


I am older than I once was (and younger than I’ll be)

by likecrackingwater (1thetenfootlongscarf2)



Series: The Albums [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 22:47:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5558453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1thetenfootlongscarf2/pseuds/likecrackingwater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I am leaving, I am leaving”, but the fighter still remains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I am older than I once was (and younger than I’ll be)

Fighting is harder then Kane ever imagined. On the Ark there was rarely violence. 

People didn't have the room or energy to rage. Every moment had to calculated and preserved. They were never supposed to see the ground. Thier children were never expected to see the atmosphere from below.

Now they wallowed in it. The world was not an oyster for the pearl but for the whole creature; brimming with soft bitter flesh, salty water, and the grit of sand between one's teeth.

The Grounders expected magic of them. They were called people of the sky but, he knew, there was a subconscious idea that they must have brought something with them. They were Prometheus. They must have brought fire.

When he and the guard set into the wood to find the hundred they expected some death. Not two boys tied to a horse, covered in blood.

Marcus Kane understood Finn's fear, his rolling eyes panic. He didn't understand Blake's cool acceptance. 

It was worse in Tondc. The deference he gave to Clarke boarded on a quiet fanaticism.

Marcus pulled Abby to the side. "I don't understand Blake."

She shrugged. "Neither do I. But it keeps him in line." Not unkind, just pragmatic.

Now it was later.

Clarke had left. Abandoned her post, cut her anchor. Marcus expected Blake to be distraught or tyrannical. He was neither. The Council grew by five members. They were all from the hundred. Blake was one of them, but he watched more than he spoke.

When he did talk Marcus was remided of old works. Bellamy used words like "union" and "sacrifice" with the same impassioned earnest tone of a thousand of his predecessors. To him it was to be expected. Death and honor were constant. Everything else was smoke in a breeze. Fleeting and distracting.

He would try and eat a meal with the man once a week. Bellamy always accepted. It wasn't the same attention he used to give Clakre, but it had the same flavor of respect.

"Thank you." Everything he said was without irony. 

"You're welcome."

The soy cubes were too soft today. They were half dissolved in the broth. Marcus carefully spooned it. Bellamy used hunks of bread. It was strange to watch the hundred eat. They were quickly and thorough necessity. He had the posture of a Grounder, coiled.

No one was totally sure what happened in the mountain. Marcus suspected that Bellamy received a different treatment even then Clarke was privy to.

"How have you been?"

He looked honestly confused. That was worse. "Fine," he said.

Marcus studied him. No regret. Clear eyes. "Is it true you beat another member of this camp?"

"Yes."

"You fractured his jaw and broke his leg."

Bellamy put down the bread and fixed Marucs with his full attention. It was slightly fatal. Spoiling for a fight probably.

"He broke the rules."

"We have rules. And rules about punishments. Beating someone's never accepted. Not here, not outside of those gates. We are civilized, Bellamy."

The other man nodded. "Fine."

Marcus tried to extend a peace offering. "The guard practices hand-to-hand. You should come." Might give him a place to vent his rage.

It was a poor idea.

He took every weakness as an opening. He moved silently. When he got desperate he became dangerous, aiming for the liver or kidneys or, on one occasion, the temple. Marcus dragged him off a senior officer who refused to tap out. Beamy would had killed him otherwise.

"He didn't hit and there was no KO," Bellamy argued at the edge of the sparring mat. There was blood across his face and at least a few loose teeth from a kick to the head that didn't startle him as much as it should have. At that point he must have been seeing double because he attacked too far to the left then recorrected and grappled Lt. Ruths to the ground. 

The captain was gasping feet away. Bellamy did a number on the woman's ribs. She was groaning but upright. Marcus didn't like the way she was drooling blood. 

"Both of you need to get to the med bay." 

Bellamy refused any help. The walk to the bay was awful. He walked with his head up, blood on his face. Marcus didn't like the image it projected. It made Bake looks less human.


End file.
